


those long freedom years

by augustbird



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustbird/pseuds/augustbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the truth: Hawke has too much power over him and he's scared of running from one master to the next.  </p>
<p>And this is the sad, pathetic truth: Fenris is too broken to know how to be what Hawke deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	those long freedom years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radiophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiophile/gifts).
  * Translation into Polski available: [Długie lata wolności](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023615) by [Lady_Aribeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Aribeth/pseuds/Lady_Aribeth)



> This is both because of and for the lovely [Adri](http://radiophile.tumblr.com/) who I'm sure is laughing to herself forever about how quickly I became invested in these video game pixels. I couldn't have asked for a more fantastic cheerleader. <333  
> Just a warning: quite a lot of liberty was taken with canon conversations; bits have been moved around or rewritten.

"I could use your help," Hawke says.

_____

Five years on the run, slipping from shadow to shadow. In Tantervale, he'd been sold out by the innkeep and had barely escaped downriver--only to catch a nasty cold wandering south through the forests in the frozen damp of winter. It's spring now, but he still coughs up phlegm in the morning. His lungs are still recovering.

Logically, he knows he can't stay long in Kirkwall. But he's so tired of being hunted.

_____

He doesn't even attempt to make the mansion habitable.

In years past, perhaps, he would have been furious enough to run from room to room, tearing down the dusty tapestries and hacking what remained of the furniture to pieces. But he's too exhausted to do anything except light the candles and take advantage of Danarius's abandoned wine collection.

Let him come. Let them all come.

_____

The group that Hawke has assembled is strange: a dwarf who laughs too much and a Rivaini pirate who tries to pickpocket him the first time they meet--not to mention the three apostates.

Fenris keeps his hands clenched and doesn't say anything when he meets all of them for the first time. Jobs are hard for him to come by. His markings make him an obvious runaway. Few in Nevarra were interested in incurring the wrath of the magistrates and he does not know if it will be true for Kirkwall too. He needs to make coin if he wants not to go hungry. He refuses to linger in the shadows, begging for alms like so many of his bretheren.

"You work with several mages," Fenris says to Hawke as he follows the rogue out the door of the Hanged Man.

"Bethany is my sister," Hawke replies, "Anders and Merrill are good people, if a bit disconcerting."

"And you are not concerned that you're harboring apostates?"

"Is there a problem?" Hawke asks, turning to look at Fenris in the eye. "I've known Bethany my entire life. She's no more likely to become possessed than I am."

_You truly don't understand,_ Fenris wants to say. But instead he says, "Be careful, Hawke," and disappears into the shadows.

_____

They don't really talk except to whisper tactics before ambushing thugs or shouting warnings at each other in the heat of battle. Fenris stays quiet as the party banters among itself, observing everything and contributing little. He doesn't know if he can trust them not to send word back to Tevinter about an escaped slave. Isabela is a pirate after all, and he's not certain that she wouldn't sell him out for a couple of sovereign that Danarius would gladly pay.

He's begrudgingly impressed with Hawke, who moves fluidly from one thug to the next, knives effortlessly finding veins and immobilizing strike points. His moves are precisely controlled to almost never kill outright. Fenris spends more time watching the rogue than he would like to admit--enough that sometimes he finds himself too distracted to fight properly. Lightning arcs over his shoulder to strike his opponents down in his stead and he becomes infuriated with his own lack of focus.

"You fight well," Hawke tells him after a particularly brutal encounter with a human gang who had been terrorizing the Alienage.

Fenris can't help the twitch of a smile as he applies balm to a shallow cut on his arm. "As do you."

"Will you tell me more about your markings?" Hawke asks, seating himself next to Fenris. He starts to wipe his blades clean with a piece of scrap cloth.

"They are lyrium tattoos," Fenris says, touching his own wrist, "A rather agonizing process. The pattern follows the spirit channels of the body and allows me to access the Fade."

"Doesn't that make you--" Hawke pauses, looking at Fenris and hesitating, "--a mage in your own right?"

Fenris smiles, only it is not a smile at all. "I am no mage," he says, "I am a weapon."

_____

In springtime, the courts of Minrathous are resplendent with boughs of golden flowers bent low to the ground. The elven slaves gather the blooms to decorate dining halls and open hallways, gold spilling out of every vase and enclave, bright against the pale grey of ashen marble. It's almost enough to trick the residents of these great halls into thinking that they've walked through the pages of history, back to an era when the splendor of the Golden City had been at its height.

But in the shadows of the white spires of the magistrate, the real city breathes. Fenris knows that he must have come from this teeming mass of society--mothers selling their sons into a lifetime of servitude, slavers harassing prostitutes, lowlife blood splattered onto smoke-darkened doorsteps. But he only remembers watching the torchlight of slum homes passing by in the window of their gilded carriage, Danarius's hand on his thigh.

_____

It's been weeks. Fenris has saved up enough coin to last him a few months if he were to move on.

But no slavers have come. And the wine cellar is still full.

Hawke seems to have an unending number of people clamoring for his help and paying well. It's the best situation that Fenris has managed to land himself in since escaping.

_____

A knock at his front door. Fenris opens his eyes and reaches for his sword. He has slept in his armor for the past five years, preferring to be uncomfortable rather than dead.

"Fenris," Hawke greets him when Fenris opens the door. He smells like the Hanging Man--sticky beer and tavern smoke.

"It's quite late," Fenris observes.

Hawke just blinks at him. "Is it? Sorry."

Fenris considers him for a moment before stepping aside. "Come in." Hawke steps inside and Fenris closes the door.

"Is he your guard?" Hawke asks, pointing at a human skeleton still clothed in battle armor sprawled face down on the floor in the entrance hall.

"A poor one," Fenris says, leading the way up the stairs. "I suppose I should offer you something to drink."

Hawke seems not to have heard him. "You know, if you'd like help cleaning this place up, I'd be more than willing to lend a hand."

"No." Fenris presses a bottle of red into Hawke's chest. "Thank you."

Hawke takes the offered wine and turns his gaze around the only mildly habitable room in the entire house. Belatedly he realizes. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"I'm awake now," Fenris says, "Did you come here to discuss something, Hawke?"

"I--" Hawke says, fidgeting with the bottle. "We never see you at the Hanged Man after any of our jobs. I just wanted to make sure that you know you're invited."

Fenris doesn't answer. He's not sure how to answer.

"Better than drinking alone in this giant house, right?" Hawke smiles.

"Thank you," Fenris says measuredly.

Hawke starts to unpeel the label on the bottle he's holding but keeps his eyes on Fenris's face. "I know you don't like mages. But maybe if you got to know Bethany or the others, you'd think differently."

Fenris doesn't answer for a long moment. And then he says, "You've never travelled farther north than Kirkwall."

"Ferelden born," Hawke says, "As you know."

"Then you've never seen the power that the magisters wield. They are petty beings, fighting amongst themselves, corrupted by blood magic. Collateral damage is expected. What is the life of an insignificant slave if it means gaining advantage over your peers? And those of us without magic, there is truly no hope."

"Our mages are not magisters," Hawke says.

"No," Fenris says, "Perhaps the mages you know will never be. But give them freedom, and then a generation. Give them a hundred years. The Tevinter Imperium has existed in many incarnations."

Hawke sets the wine down on the table. He has not opened it. "Will you come?"

Fenris watches his face. He still doesn't know what to make of this rogue. He says, "Perhaps."

_____

He sleeps standing up sometimes. Closes his eyes and leans against the wall and falls into a light doze. It's a skill he has learned over the years.

Sometimes he stands in the entryway and sleeps with one hand on the hilt of his sword, leaning up against the wall next to him. On those nights, the memory of this house grow too vivid, the ghost of Danarius dogging his every step as he walks through the empty rooms. Here was the place Danarius had ordered him to slaughter three magistrates who had supposedly come to Kirkwall to usurp Danarius's near monopoly over the slavers in the city. Here was where Fenris had stood three days without food because Hadriana had accused him of trying to escape. Here was where Danarius ordered him to drop to his knees and suck him off because he didn't like the way Fenris looked at the elven slave who delivered their food.

He ought to be stronger than this. All of those memories are from a lifetime ago--just demons to be purged and nothing more. These walls are just walls. There is nobody in this big house except for him.

But the nights when he remembers especially vividly that Danarius is still out there, that he's still looking for him--Fenris wants to be ready.

_____

"What do you know about him?"

Varric looks at him in surprise. "The elf speaks!"

They're picking their way along the Wounded Coast, on the lookout for Tal-Vashoth. Further ahead, Isabela has her hand on Hawke's shoulder, and they're laughing at some joke that she just told, no doubt dirty.

"What do you know about Hawke?" Fenris asks again.

"I've only known him for a short time, really," Varric says, "Recruited him out of the Red Iron for this little expedition my brother and I are heading out on. Why, are you planning to seduce him?"

Fenris fixes Varric with a stare.

Varric grins. "He's a good man. Makes some truly horrendous jokes once in a while but he buys rounds for everyone often enough. Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of those knives he carries around. The tales are good, the coin is enough--I can't complain."

"Nobody seems to be concerned with the apostates," Fenris observes. "Not even the abomination."

"Maker, you've got a one-track mind. This isn't the Imperium. Nobody's going to start crushing all of Kirkwall with the power of their mind." Varric tosses him a silver coin--one that Fenris isn't expecting but catches reflexively. "Relax, elf. Have a drink on me when we get back."

_____

Weeks turn into months. Fenris starts to look forward to the mornings when Hawke knocks on his door to ask if he'd like to tag along to take out a group of blood mages or track down apostates. Even the menial task of clearing nighttime thugs from the docks or from lowtown is a welcome distraction from thinking about how close his hunters must be to Kirkwall.

His luck will run out. They will find him. It is inevitable.

_____

The trees start to change color from the outside in, yellow starting at the tips of leaves and spreading to encompass all the green before dropping off the branches. Fenris remembers seeing the dual-colored leaves in a land far away--a time when he'd watched the world pass him by in a lyrium-induced haze. Looming figures tending gently to the gashes in his abdomen--he remembered vomiting the first time he had seen his own viscera poking out of his skin.

The branches became bare and sprang back into life with the budding of leaves. And so he had regained strength.

And so Danarius had found him once more.

_____

"Fenris," Hawke calls as Fenris starts to head home from the Hanging Man. He turns. Hawke has followed him out.

"Let me accompany you," Hawke says, pulling on his gauntlets.

"I assure you this sword isn't just for show."

"I insist anyway," Hawke says, falling into step. "And believe me, I've seen you gut more than your fair share of raiders. Can't a friend accompany a friend home without being accused of ulterior motives?"

"Friend," Fenris repeats, the weight of the word unfamiliar on his tongue.

"I think we've done more than enough to qualify as friends," Hawke says. His eyes are bright in the light of the full moon. Fenris looks at him silently. Hawke continues, "You've saved my life more times than I can count by now."

"Consider the favor returned."

"Fenris," Hawke says. He catches the back of Fenris's elbow and Fenris stops. If it had been anybody else, Fenris wouldn't have hesitated to draw his sword.

Hawke's voice is low and urgent now, "You have to know. If they came after you--if any of them managed to find you--they'd have to go through me first."

Fenris stills, barely daring to breathe. He didn't want to admit to himself how much he had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, Hawke might--

"I'll kill them," Hawke says, "Every last one of them."

"I'm an elf," Fenris says, "And a slave."

"I just know you as Fenris," Hawke says, and lets go.

_____

If Fenris had looked back, he would have picked this as the fatal moment.

_____

In the summertime, Danarius would sail along the coast of thet Nocen Sea, calling on magistrates he considered to be his friends and intimidating his enemies. Fenris would, of course, accompany him from one city to the next, sleeping on the damp wood next to Darnarius's hammock.

He hated these trips because Danarius would bring along a special sort of lyrium that set the lyrium in his skin aflame--irritating his tattoos enough to glow constantly, forcing Fenris to clench his teeth and bear the agonizing pain.

Danarius told him that it made him look more impressive, that he hadn't paid for the damn lyrium to be injected into Fenris's flesh for nothing.

He took special care in touching Fenris as much as he could when he was lit--smiling at Fenris with eyes that reflected the glow. Fenris refused to cringe away from the touch, refused to whimper. Forced himself to endure in silence.

"My little wolf," Danarius would whisper and kiss him on the forehead.

_____

He can feel the presence of the red lyrium even before they enter the thaig. It registers as a buzzing in his markings, an uneasy nausea that he pushes away.

For a moment, he swears that the idol looks his way and recognizes him as hunted. If he had it, if he could get control of it--he was sure he would have no problem killing Danarius. He starts forward. He can finally be free.

But the moment passes when Bartrand slams the door shut. Fenris feels like a fool.

_____

Hawke buys the old Amell estate, across the courtyard from where Fenris is still holed up. Fenris spends an hour in the cellar looking for the best wine he still has left. He's halfway to storming out in disgust and throwing fifty silver away on some overpriced vintage when he finally finds an Antivan bottle five decades old and decent enough to bring as a housewarming gift.

He feels stupid as he knocks on the door and is halfway to bolting when Bodahn asks him to wait in the foyer. The torchlight here is inviting--Fenris can see a warm fireplace in the main hall where Hawke's giant war mutt sleeps with her head on her paws. It's nothing like Danarius's mansion, cold and overgrown with cobwebs.

"Fenris!" Hawke greets him. He's dressed in a robe instead of his usual light armor. Fenris can't help but stare--he's never seen Hawke without his knives, dressed like a civilian.

"For you," Fenris says, holding out the bottle.

Hawke takes it and looks at it before smiling at Fenris. "This certainly looks like a small fortune. Thank you Fenris."

"I should go," Fenris says, starting to turn.

"No!" Hawke says, catching his elbow again. He immediately lets go and says in a quieter voice, "Stay. I'll open this. You'd appreciate it more than I would, I think."

Fenris smiles wryly. "It's a poor choice of gift then."

"No, no," Hawke protests, "I'm a country boy from rural Ferelden, remember? You can teach me how to be cultured. Stay. Please."

Fenris licks his lips, unsure. "If you insist," he says, and follows Hawke into the main hall. Hawke opens another door and gestures for Fenris to follow him into the library.

"I actually have something for you," Hawke says, gesturing for Fenris to sit in one of the armchairs. "I found it when I was visiting Merrill the other day. I thought maybe you'd like it."

Fenris watches Hawke dig through the books on his table, half written notes scattering across ground as Hawke moves things around. The firelight plays against the heavy fabric of Hawke's robes and for a moment Fenris finds his eyes wandering the curve of Hawke's backside, lingering on the shape of Hawke's jaw, accentuated by the trimmed beard. And then Hawke pulls out a book with a noise of triumph and Fenris stares back into the fire, conflicted about whether or not he had permission to look in the first place.

"Here," Hawke says, handing him the book, "It's about Shartan."

"A devout follower of Andraste," Fenris says, looking down at the book. The words are indecipherable to him, nothing more than a collection of curved lines and sharp angles.

"I'm afraid I didn't pay attention much during my history lessons," Hawke says, producing two wineglasses from a cabinet below the bookshelves and pouring wine for both of them. "But I remember he was a particularly influential figure, right?"

"My own education was a little lacking," Fenris replies, accepting the glass that Hawke offers, "Literate slaves weren't high on the priority list for Danarius. I suppose the more educated we were, the more successful we'd be at escaping. Or the greater chance we'd think about escaping at all."

"You can still learn," Hawke says, "I'd be happy to teach you."

Fenris feels the blush high up on his cheeks. "I'm sure you have better things to be doing with your time."

"I want to," Hawke insists. He's quiet for a moment, then adds in a lighter tone, "Might be good to be able to read Anders's potion labels. In case he hands you one marked poison."

"I'm sure he'd try to be a little more subtle than that," Fenris says.

Hawke grins and lifts his glass. "This is good wine."

Fenris puts his nose into the glass and inhales. The wine is spicier than he'd expected, and a bit drier. Absently, he says, "I used to taste Danarius's wine for poison. Caught it, twice. Barely survived the second time."

Silence. Hawke just watches his face.

Fenris clears his throat. "I apologize."

"Don't apologize," Hawke says, "I'm glad you trust me enough to talk about it."

Trust. The very concept is foreign to Fenris--and yet.

"I'm glad you stopped by," Hawke says, and smiles at Fenris.

_____

The one time Danarius had travelled to Orlais, Fenris had accompanied him to the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Danarius had met with a Lord Seeker in a room with walls that were covered in books. Both ancient tomes and newly bound books were stacked so high that Fenris had to crane his neck to see the ceiling. The seekers had to use long ladders to reach the books that they needed--and sometimes books would tumble down as if in a landslide.

The same trip, Danarius had ordered him to kill a sister of the order, and to do it quietly. 

Fenris covered her mouth with one hand and reached into her chest with the other. They fled the city before the blood had dried on Fenris's fist.

_____

Fenris looks down at Bartrand's lifeless form and thinks, _that could have been me._

Varric leaves the room without another word. Hawke goes after him and the abomination hovers uncertainly near the door. Fenris is the last to leave.

How much would he be willing to give up to be rid of Danarius?

Hawke has a hand on Varric's shoulder, speaking quietly. Fenris stares at his profile, his mouth shaping words Fenris can't hear, at his furrowed brow and familiar nose. Fenris swallows against a sudden tightness in his chest, something he doesn't understand.

_____

In an armchair in the Hawke library with a chalkboard tablet on his lap, Fenris tells Hawke everything. About how he'd been so badly injured that Danarius had accidentally left him behind.

About his ultimate betrayal of the Fog Warriors. About how it felt to come back to himself and realize what he had done. About running away like a coward from those he had slain--a burden he will carry with him to the end of his days.

And then he'd been silent, waiting for the judgment. Maybe he'd been half expecting Hawke's lips to thin and for his eyes to harden--to tell Fenris that he wasn't the person he had thought he was. That he was disappointed. There was an excuse ready on the tip of Fenris's tongue, a readiness to get to his feet and leave.

But instead, Hawke reaches over and lays a hand on Fenris's shoulder. He says, "Thank you for telling me," in his soft, serious voice, and Fenris feels an ache in his very being and the lightness of being forgiven, even if only a little bit. Salvation doesn't rightfully lie in Hawke's hands but it's the first time in a very long while Fenris has felt the urge to submit.

It scares him but he doesn't move away.

_____

He understands Isabela to some extent--her longing for the freedom of the open ocean and her interest in thievery because it presents a challenge. He understands Varric, looking for nothing more than a good time and a way to embellish the story in the retelling. He understands the abomination's zealous devotion, even if he does not understand why. He has met many slaves who religiously followed their masters into death or the beyond. He does not care to understand Merrill, who unabashedly practices blood magic and will inevitably be inhabited by a demon one day.

Hawke is harder to understand. How he carelessly jokes about the death he's wrought on those who stand in their way but gives sovereigns to orphaned children as if he were made of gold. How the death of one stranger can trouble him but the death of an entire contingent of thugs or slavers merits no more than a blink. A hard arbiter of justice, calling out orders that Fenris blindly follows in the heat of battle and a flawed human being, all at the same time.

And he doesn't understand himself. Not the way he wants to bend his knee to Hawke, not the way he's certain he would die fighting before letting anybody get to Hawke. It should remind him of Danarius, this blind loyalty. It should scare him.

But Hawke hasn't woven enchantments across his skin, hasn't forced lyrium down his throat or into his flesh. He wove his spell with patience and kindness but Fenris has spent so long being hunted that he doesn't know how to be coaxed out.

_____

The first time they travel to the Wounded Coast in months, Fenris's past catches up with him.

He knows from the moment they climb over the ridge, his heart jumping because this is it: the moment he'd been waiting for. And when they swagger into view, a fury grows in his chest--he hasn't come this far, hasn't given up so much just to be taken back to the Imperium.

_Stolen property,_ the hunter says. _Slave,_ the hunter says.

Whatever Hawke says in response is lost in the rush of blood pounding in Fenris's ears.

_____

Varric and the abomination are having a quiet conversation behind them, their voices carrying in a murmur over the breeze. Hawke is right behind him, at the edges of his personal space--far closer than he would normally be. It'd be irritating on any other day.

Hawke will stand with him, Hawke won't let the abomination turn him in if it comes to it.

"It's here," Fenris says, looking down at the overgrown entrance. Almost directly off the coast, easy access to Kirkwall's darktown through the labyrinth of underground tunnels made in bygone days when emancipation was just beginning to take hold in the Free Marches.

Hadriana is here.

"I'll go first," Hawke says. As he passes Fenris, his hand slides along Fenris's shoulderblade, a momentary warmth through the leather tunic. _I'm here._

_____

He has a sister.

It's too convenient. Why would Hadriana give up the information so easily? It's another one of Danarius's games, a ploy to get him to come back to the Imperium to investigate Anything to ferret Fenris away from Kirkwall, to play right into Danarius's hands.

He's furious because he knows the ploy is working. He has a sister--someone who could tell him about what he was like, before. Someone who could tell him who he could be. It's everything he's wanted these last few years, barred behind the threat of Danarius.

He snaps at Hawke, pushes him away. He does what he does best: run.

_____

Once, when Fenris was very young and new to serving Danarius, he had trusted Hadriana. She would give him scraps of food left over from dinner if he did her favors, sending him running all over the estate and earning him a whipping whenever he was late to a summons. In retrospect, he suspects she had done it to make him appear foolish, to leave a bad impression with Danarius.

It wasn't until later, when he was serving by Danarius's side near constantly that she accused him of raping her. With a tearful display, she narrated how Fenris had pushed her into a corner of an unused hallway and roughly deflowered her. Never mind that he'd been with Danarius the entire time the event supposedly took place. Never mind that he had never one looked her way without being addressed directly. It was the word of an apprentice against that of a slave.

Danarius had chained him in the dungeons for two weeks, feeding him maggot infested meat and the blackened ends of loaves. His own urine had been preferable to the sewage they gave him to drink.

They could never break him too badly. After all, even if his life meant nothing at all, he was worth the lyrium in his skin.

_____

The winds sweep across the beach grasses, driftwood half buried into sand and the remnants of shipwrecked masts gleaming faintly in the shallow coves. Fenris picks his way among the rocks, bare feet slipping against wet rock but never losing footing.

His last sea voyage had been on Seheron when he'd convinced one of the Qunari to sneak him back to the mainland on one of their merchant ships. Had it not been a sin, he was certain he would have pitched himself overboard and drowned--the hurt of dishonor weighing new on his mind.

Hadriana was dead. Hawke had watched him do it, silent and dispassionate as Fenris pushed his hand through her flesh and squeezed his fist around her fearful heart.

_____

_Purge everything._

_____

He sleeps underneath the stars for the first time since coming to Kirkwall. The night is cold and his armor is light. He shivers quietly.

If Danarius came for him, would Hawke still stand by him? Danarius was a powerful magister in his own right and he certainly wouldn't spare any blood sacrifice if it meant capturing Fenris once and for all. Would Hawke--would any of them stand a chance?

He doesn't want any of his new friends to die. He thinks that perhaps he is not as unfamiliar with the word as he once was.

He doesn't want Hawke to die.

The right thing to do would be to leave. Quietly slip away in the night and move on. He'd been doing it for years on end before coming to Kirkwall after all.

The selfish thing, though. Hawke's hand on his back, Hawke's smile, his steady voice. Fenris wants to know: Hawke's fingers against his face, the scarred skin under the armor, how Hawke's hair feels under his fingers. Firelight glow in his eyes, watching Fenris with the same intensity he brings to a fight. To be the center of that precise attention.

Six years freedom and he's already found a new master, even if Hawke wouldn't call himself that. He doesn't know what he wants.

_____

He lets himself in through the kitchen door that Bodahn had left open for the grocer and dodges the dwarf who enters with a leg of lamb balanced on a roasting tray. The mabari doesn't greet Fenris by jumping on him when he enters the main hall and he doesn't hear the voice of Hawke's mother entertaining her friends in the parlor or from upstairs. There is nobody home.

He opens the door to the library and considers the empty hearth for a long moment. The curtains are shut and it is dim in this room. The chalkboard tablet he'd been working on only four days ago is on the table, his own rather illegible scrawl still visible in white.

It's one of the few places in the world where he feels some measure of safety--one place where Danarius cannot touch him. He pulls off his gauntlets and lets his metal chestpiece fall away, leaving behind only the leather armor. It is very likely the last time he will be comfortable for a long while.

He sinks into Hawke's armchair. It's soft and it smells like Hawke--the scented tallow soap that his mother buys for the household underlaid with the blood that Hawke can't seem to fully scrub out of his hair. Eventually he dozes off, lulled into a dangerous sense of security.

_____

A touch on his shoulder. Fenris jerks awake, hand snapping to grab the wrist before remembering himself.

"Fenris." It's Hawke. "I was worried about you. You've been gone so long."

Fenris collects himself and gets to his feet. "I apologize. I did not mean to make you worry."

"Are you alright?" Hawke asks. He's still in his armor, a streak of blood dried across the back of his gauntlet. There's a bruise on his cheek and a scabbed cut on his jaw--things that a simple healing spell should have taken care of.

"I misdirected my anger for Hadriana at you," Fenris says, "I shouldn't have shouted at you like that."

Hawke waves it away, eyes intent on Fenris's face. Fenris looks anywhere but Hawke's face, trying to get the words out.

"I think," Fenris says, "It's time for me to move on. Danarius knows that I'm here and he will surely come for me. It isn't fair for me to drag all of you into my own troubles."

"No," Hawke says, "Stay. Please."

Fenris looks down at the floor, his words soft. "There's enough blood on my hands without adding yours to it too."

Hawke reaches forward and tips his chin up. Fenris keeps his eyes down--this is hard enough without Hawke making it any more difficult.

"If he comes," Hawke whispers, "We'll face him together."

He gives in. He looks at Hawke. And he can't help himself.

It's the easiest thing in the world to lean up and kiss Hawke.

_____

Hawke touches him, smoothing his thumbs against the hollows of Fenris's throat. He touches the swirling tattoos on Fenris's chest and where Fenris expects agony, the lyrium sings instead. Like it knows Hawke's intent, like it is a living thing breathing under Fenris's skin, waiting for its rightful master.

He sinks his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Hawke's head, and gasps into Hawke's mouth as Hawke rocks slowly against him, his cock pressed into the crease of Fenris's thigh. Hawke brushes his lips against Fenris's jaw, hot breath against his skin.

The oil spills onto the covers but neither of them take notice. Fenris prepares himself, sliding a finger into himself while Hawke watches his face, eyes dark and hungry. It has been a long time since Fenris has done this, and never with someone he wants. This is for Hawke, this experience will not be tainted by his past.

Hawke drops a kiss on his shoulder, stubble catching the side of Fenris's neck and Fenris shudders. Hawke breathes, "May I?" Fenris touches his lips to Hawke's temple. Hawke's fingers are oil slicked and he presses into Fenris. Fenris can't help the whimper that shakes his throat, the way his lyrium flares with Hawke's lips against his neck.

Later, Fenris pins Hawke to the bed and sinks down on him, hungrily taking in the wide eyes and parted mouth, the hitched breath and Hawke's broad hands on his hips. He moves slowly at first to draw out the breathless whimper, firelight softening the scars on Hawke's shoulders.

And when he can't take it any more, Fenris holds on to Hawke and lets go.

_____

_\--sunny afternoon in the shadow of the spires, he's running down the street and a woman is yelling after him--_

_\--he sits on his knees, head bowed. There is a man at the front speaking in Tevene--_

_\--sea breeze on his face and arms draped around his shoulder. Low, warm words. "Careful, Leto."--_

_\--a young girl hitting him on the shoulder, her hair in braids. Her voice like a songbird. "I'm telling!"--_

_\--blood on his hands, his nose wrinkled in a snarl, he will not be conquered--_

_\--pain--_

_\--pain--_

_\--nothing._

_____

Fenris sleeps in fits. It is still dark when he wakes and realizes that he will not be able to sleep any longer.

For a moment--for just a moment--he remembered. And then it had slipped out of his fingers like a fleeting dream--so quickly that he wasn't so sure it had been there at all.

Hawke sleeps with his arm curled around Fenris's shoulder, his chest against Fenris's spine. Fenris moves away carefully and turns to look at him in the shadow of the firelight. He carefully touches Hawke's cheek, not wanting to wake him. He traces his fingers across Hawke's cheekbone, down his jaw.

He needs--he needs to leave. To clear his head, maybe to go far away so he doesn't bring destruction to the good people here, like he had with the Fog Warriors. This was nothing more than a brief moment's weakness, a foolish selfishness.

He slides out of bed and starts to pull on his armor, leaving his gauntlets for last. He slides his blade into its sheath and stares into the fire, conflicted. If he had learned better how to read and write, he could have just left Hawke a note. But he can't do more than write his name or read the most basic of children's books--how could he be expected to explain the complexity of his decision with such simple words?

"Was it that bad?"

Fenris tenses and turns back around. Hawke is sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, looking at Fenris.

"No," Fenris says, "On the contrary--" And there he loses his ability to speak. How could he explain the way that Hawke had looked at him, the euphoria of having the agony of his lyrium lifted if only for a short time?

"It was too much," Fenris says inadequately, turning around because he can't bear to look at Hawke's face any longer. "All at once. I couldn't--"

Silence. The fire cracks. Fenris struggles for words.

"I thought--there was a moment when I remembered. Everything." He shakes his head. "And then it slipped away from me. I need--I need some air."

"Fenris," Hawke says, "Don't leave Kirkwall."

Not _don't leave me_ or even a simple _don't leave_. Fenris can't look back.

"Forgive me," he says, and walks away.

_____

He has a sister somewhere in the Imperium. He must have had a mother--would she still be alive? Would they remember him? Would he bring them trouble if he tried to contact them? If he left Kirkwall, he would not be able to get a response while on the run.

He has grown lazy and complacent in this city--allowed himself to start taking root. He should have left months ago, before ever getting to know Hawke, before he had grown fond of the team. He brought this on himself.

_____

Would they help him still, if Danarius came? Could they win?

_____

He ties a red scarf he nicked from Hawke's room to the wrist of his gauntlet. A reminder, perhaps. As if he did not carry it in his heart.

_____

He's two days from Kirkwall, in the winding paths of the Vimmark Mountains. The trail is particularly treacherous--sharp rocks under his feet, fog obscuring the way in the low valleys. He dozes in a damp cave the first night, listening to the bats flutter back and forth all night.

Where is he to go? Perhaps he will make his way up the coast to Rivain. Perhaps the pirates there might take him on as a mercenary--perhaps he will have another few years to himself before he is inevitably handed back over to the Imperium by the seafaring thieves.

Perhaps he will go to Antiva. Perhaps the House of Crows could find use for him, a half broken runaway with no experience in knives. But he has the lyrium; his kills are clean.

In the end, he finds himself in front of the gates of Kirkwall, afraid of the way he thinks _home_.

_____

It's been almost a week since he left. But the knock comes in the morning--what he'd been half hoping for and dreading the entire night.

When Hawke sees him, he smiles and says, "I'm glad you're back."

Fenris doesn't deserve him.

Hawke looks him over, his eyes lingering on the red scarf. There is something in his face that Fenris cannot read--but it clears away quickly with one of Hawke's all too easy grins.

"Interested in earning some coin from the Viscount?"

_____

He learns how to play Wicked Grace from Isabela who takes great relish in relieving him of his money. "Next time, we'll play strip," she says, eyeing his armor and clearing away the cards.

He listens to Varric tell secondhand stories about the great thaigs of old, about the veins of lyrium so wide and so pure that it sounded like a choir singing beneath the earth. About merchants one-upping each other to get ahead, about dwarves who had worked amongst the lyrium so long that even they were driven insane.

He accompanies Aveline on her night patrol sometimes when he can't sleep. She tells him about Ferelden, about the way the Blight had swept up from the south, burning everything in its path. But mostly she tells him about the mabari hound she left behind, the way the snow piled up so high in the south that people carved walls out of ice. She rarely touches on the subject of her dead husband. Fenris knows better than to ask how she can leave her old life behind so easily.

He allows the abomination to heal him when the fight is over, the magic crawling under his skin like an unpleasant itch. Even as he watches the cuts disappear and his bruises fade, he doesn't trust it.

The blood mage keeps mostly to herself unless Isabela is teasing her. In many ways, she is just as bad as the abomination--but they are both elves. They are both outsiders. Perhaps Fenris understands her better than he would ever admit.

_____

Hawke, he watches.

Hawke has changed since they first met. He is calmer now, more deliberate in which jobs he chooses. He still loves puns too much and is idiotic enough to challenge Varric to drinking contests on slow days. But the slow days are now few and far apart.

Kirkwall is hard on Hawke's body. Fenris watches the way he rubs his wrists at the end of the day, the way he tries to hide the way he favors his left leg when a storm is approaching. Sometimes Fenris lies sleepless with thunder rattling through his empty house, thinking about pressing his thumbs into the back of Hawke's knees and working his way down Hawke's calves. And then he thinks about wrapping his hands around Hawke's thigh and kissing the small of his back.

Maybe he could have had everything. But now he puts those thoughts away.

_____

He chances a letter. He signs it with "Brother" and hopes that it doesn't fall in the wrong hands.

_____

"You've really done a number on him," Varric says during a game of diamondback.

"I don't follow," Fenris says, though he has a sinking feeling that he does.

Varric jerks his head, pointing with his chin at the barkeep's counter where Hawke is talking to a rather pretty woman. She has her hand on the table very close to his and she's smiling at him.

"He's not going to do anything," Varric concludes, putting his cards face down on the table and picking up his tankard of bitter. "She'll invite him up to her room because he's Hawke, the name that keeps getting passed around. Hawke, the hero of lowtown, keeper of peace. And he'll smile at her and tell her no."

Fenris watches even though he know he shouldn't, that he shouldn't care. It's not until Hawke sends her on her way with a gentle smile and a pat on her shoulder that Fenris can finally tear his eyes away to look intently at his own cards. "What Hawke does in his own time is none of my concern."

"Your face tells a different story," Varric says, "That thing on your wrist tells a different story."

Fenris immediately drops his right hand below the table, staring at his cards and furious at himself for blushing. He turns his cards over.

Varric tosses his own onto the table and smirks. "Looks like I won this round."

_____

"He shouldn't," Fenris says to Varric later that night, after he'd lost two sovereign to the dwarf and drunk far too much of the tavern's disgusting swill.

Varric makes a noise of assent, helping him out the door of the Hanging Man. Hawke had left an hour ago, after he had lost all the money he came in with, begging off because he had an early meeting with Bethany in the morning. Fenris can't remember the last time he'd been this drunk. Varric had laughed at him and called him easy pickings.

"He should find--someone," Fenris says, "Worthier."

"Andraste," Varric mutters, "You two are stupid enough to deserve each other."

Fenris rubs his face with the hand not slung across Varric's shoulders.

"Don't you dare cry on me."

"Not crying," Fenris growls back, annoyed.

"Come on, elf," Varric says, "Let's get you home."

_____

"My mother," Hawke says, standing in Fenris's doorway. He's breathless, eyes wild. "There were lilies--Fenris, please."

Fenris sheathes his sword and follows without a word.

_____

Hawke is so strong, looking the blood mage in the eye even with the horrifying mutation wearing his mother's face standing next to him in clear view. He doesn't flinch as Quentin calls his shades--just treats it like any other job that he's been asked to do.

It's not until after that Fenris sees him crumble--the facade falling away as he drops to his knees, his broken cry of "mother," almost too soft to be heard. It sweeps away the complacency and reignites the hard fury keeping Fenris on his feet in his hunted years. Hawke cradles his mother's head on his lap and Fenris feels an old resurgence of hate--for mages, for those twisted enough to take from the unwitting innocent.

He feels sadness, too. Hawke's pain has become his own. And even though he has more than enough of his own to bear, he will take this gladly. It is one of the few things he knows how to do.

_____

He isn't sure if his presence is wanted, but he knocks on the Hawke Estate doors. Bodahn greets him with a polite smile and lets him in. There are rows of flowers in the entrance hall, condolences from families and friends that Lady Amell had charmed. Candles burn under a portrait of her likeness.

He slowly opens the door to Hawke's bedroom. Hawke doesn't look up as he enters, eyes fixed on his lap.

"I don't know if you'd like me to leave," Fenris says quietly, "And I know nothing I say can make it better. But I am here if you need me."

"I could have gotten there faster," Hawke says. "I could have noticed that she was gone sooner. I could have set out earlier."

"In retrospect, many things seem easy," Fenris says, "In the heat of the moment, they never do."

"First Carver," Hawke says, "Then they took Bethany. And now this."

Fenris tentatively sits next to Hawke on the bed.

"Is there something I could have done?" Hawke asks, "Could I have saved any of them?"

Fenris knows he's inexperienced in trying to comfort people. He wishes he knew what to say.

"I don't want to be alone," Hawke says in a small voice. Fenris wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls Hawke close.

_____

In the morning, Fenris pulls away from Hawke. Hawke hadn't cried, but he'd taken a long time to fall asleep. Fenris had curled against his back, his hair touching the nape of Hawke's neck, hand on his waist. Hawke didn't want to talk. Fenris understood.

The sun isn't yet up. Fenris listens to Hawke's steady breathing for a few long moments before slowly pulling away. Hawke didn't sleep enough as it was.

He doesn't want to leave the room. He doesn't want Hawke to reach out again and find emptiness on the other side of the bed. Enough people have left.

Fenris takes the book that Hawke had been reading from his nightstand and opens it. He tilts it in the direction of the still-blazing fireplace and tries to make out the words.

_____

Fenris feels foolish for having spent the majority of the days in the wake of Lady Amell's death following Hawke around like a shadow. He sits with Hawke in the library, feeling utterly imbecilic as he tries to read one of Varric's novels aloud--sounding out words like a child and interjecting sneering comments about irregularities in the descriptions or plot. Hawke watches the fire with his hands folded on his lap. Fenris has no idea if Hawke hears him at all.

It's a complete change of pace to be the one encouraging Hawke to eat rather than the other way around. Orana brings them sliced bread, imported cheese and clear water from the springs beyond Sundermount. Fenris sits across from Hawke at the vast dining room table and watches Hawke pick at the bread in silence.

In truth, Kirkwall doesn't allow Hawke time to grieve. The Qunari are restless and the Viscount sends three urgent summons in half as many days before Hawke straps on his armor and wipes his knives.

_____

"Basalit-an," Fenris says, regretting the words the moment they are uttered, "He has the right to challenge you."

It might be the only real choice that they have--the Qunari warriors outnumber their four-man party nearly five to one, not to mention the Arishok himself. Fenris is confident of his own abilities but he know that they are vastly outpowered. And there is the collateral damage to think of: the citizens still penned in the Keep.

The Arishok looks at Hawke. He hefts his weapons: a double sided blade that looks like it had been ripped off a guillotine in one hand and a battleaxe in the other.

"I accept," Hawke says. His eyes are clear, his chin up. He has his knives drawn, the blades still dripping with the blood of previous opponents. His teeth are bared in a grin--this tiny human showing his teeth to a heavily armored war chieftain.

"Very well," the Arishok says and charges.

_____

Hawke is light on his feet, knives flashing in the light that streams in from the windows of the Keep. He dances around the Arishok, eyes moving from one vital point to the next, calculating. The Arishok is far more powerful than Hawke, but what Hawke does not have in strength, he makes up for in agility.

In the end, Hawke manages enough momentum to leap onto the Arishok's back at a moment when his back is turned. His feet land on the Arishok's massive shoulderblades, his dagger swings forward--

\--there is an arc of blood--

\--the Arishok falls.

Hawke rolls away from the dead Qunari's shoulders and climbs unsteadily to his feet.

_____

He has a concussion from when the Arishok slammed him into the wall and a few cracked ribs from when the Arishok caught him with the blunt end of his battleaxe. The abomination stops the internal bleeding as best he can and fixes the ribs, but Hawke can still barely walk.

"You should rest," the abomination says, "I might be able to heal you better if you give your body the chance to start repairing things on its own."

"Drink the tavern dry for me," Hawke tells Varric and Isabela, who salute him.

The abomination moves under Hawke's other shoulder.

"I can take him back," Fenris objects. "I'm sure your... skills are needed elsewhere." The town is still burning after all. There is no lack of injured.

"Make sure he gets back. Don't let him drink anything other than water."

"Of course," Fenris says, annoyed.

The abomination hovers for another moment, looking between Hawke and Fenris. Hawke sounds tired when he says, "Go ahead Anders."

"I'll see you tomorrow," the abomination says and is gone within moments.

They start forward together, Fenris carrying much of Hawke's weight. At least they are already in hightown--though the flaming barricades makes it difficult to traverse. The smoke stings Fenris's eyes.

"Sorry," Hawke half coughs, wincing at the pull on his still-healing ribs. "I'm sure you also have better things to be doing than looking after me."

"Not really," Fenris replies, kicking wreckage out of the way.

"You should go join Varric and Isabela," Hawke continues, "I'll be alright once I'm home."

"The city is burning down around us," Fenris says, "I see no reason for celebration."

"I'm hurt," Hawke says. Fenris looks at him, thinking that he means it literally but Hawke just has a half grin on his face. "Not even to celebrate the new Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Already letting the title get to your head," Fenris observes. Hawke's laugh is shortly aborted, his lips pressed together in pain.

"Maybe instead of looking for reasons to worry," Hawke says quietly, "We should be looking for reasons to celebrate."

The Hawke Estate is in view. "Optimistic," Fenris says.

Hawke's arm tightens around Fenris's waist. "Yeah," he says.

_____

Sometimes when they visit the Hanged Man, women who had never given Hawke a second glance two months ago surround him like courtesans at the Blooming Rose. It's not just that he's the Champion of Kirkwall--he has an attractive face and enough vanity to know it too. His smile is charming and he does stupid knife tricks for them, even if he never takes any of them up on an offer to leave together.

And one night when Isabela is gutting him in Wicked Grace, Fenris watches a young man buy Hawke a drink. He barely pays attention to his cards and loses two hands in a row when he should have folded instead of absently calling.

They're engaged in conversation--Hawke is smiling at whatever the man's saying. And then that smile turns into an outright laugh and Fenris's insides twist, clenching his jaw and regretting ever letting Hawke go. Hating himself for walking away but being so selfish that he can't bear to watch the process of Hawke moving on.

Varric tilts his head towards Fenris, speaking quietly, "You okay, elf?"

"Moping that I took all your money?" Isabela asks, but the smile on her face is almost sad, like she knows.

"I'll win it back," Fenris says.

_____

There's a contingent of slavers smuggling captured elves from Ferelden on the Wounded Coast. Fenris tells the team that they'll move in the early hours of the morning to avoid being seen. The abomination builds a campfire in a shielded alcove and they huddle around it. The winter winds are starting to blow from the south, heralding the end of autumn.

Fenris takes the first shift. Varric falls alseep almost immediately, curled up around his crossbow. The abomination turns his back to the flames and sleeps with one hand on his staff. Hawke settles with his back against a tree and watches the flames. Fenris watches Hawke.

"You should sleep," Fenris says.

Hawke looks up at him, studying his face through the curl of smoke rising from the flames. Fenris turns his eyes outwards, though the trees and stone towards the shoreline.

"You don't come for your lessons any more," Hawke says.

"I didn't think it appropriate."

"Why not?"

Fenris says nothing.

"You should come again," Hawke says. He smiles at Fenris. "You were making really good progress. I enjoyed your rendition of Varric's book."

"I might have made parts of it up," Fenris admits.

Hawke laughs softly, and Fenris wants to move around the campfire, wants to kneel by Hawke's side, wants so badly to kiss him and beg for forgiveness. Hawke's eyes lit by firelight, his beard growing unruly, dried blood beneath his fingernails. This is neither the time nor place to think of those rough hands against his skin, lips against his neck, steady breath against his ear.

"Will you come?" Hawke asks. 

Fenris looks away, but he nods.

_____

Sometimes he wakes in the mornings breathing heavily, with the lingering phantom of hands smoothing down his stomach, the fading glow of lyrium shifting to painful. And even as the painful burn of his markings fades away, he is still left with an erection, straining against the leather of his breeches.

Most days he ignores it and it goes away in time. But some days, he indulges and wraps a hand around himself, conjuring his favorite fantasy. Hawke crowding him, his teeth against Fenris's shoulder. One hand on Fenris's ribs, thumb on his nipple, Fenris's legs around his hips. Hawke moving in him.

And when he finishes, he lies on the hard bed and stares up at the ceiling, feeling empty.

_____

Fenris moves silently to stand next to Aveline.

"Cold night," she says, looking out over the worn docks. There is a boat on the horizon steadily creeping closer and the murmur of longshoremen beneath them. "You're a long way from hightown."

"I didn't have any trouble," Fenris assures her, watching the light of the boat. The sweep of the lighthouse light is reflected into the choppy waters that unfurl onto shore.

"We might be expecting some trouble tonight," Aveline says.

"I'd be happy to lend a hand," Fenris says, taking a seat on one of the many abandoned cargo boxes.

They watch the approaching boat in companionable silence. And then Aveline shifts, her armored boots scraping momentarily against the stone road. She asks, "Do you feel like a citizen?"

He looks at her.

"Of Kirkwall," she clarifies, "We've been here for a long time now."

"Do you?"

"Sometimes," she says, "And sometimes I am surprised by how little I know of the culture here. Ferelden would never stand for so much governance."

Fenris smiles briefly. Hawke certainly liked to toe the line.

"Have you thought about settling down?" Aveline asks, "Not in that decrepit old house. But somewhere you can call your own. Maybe with someone?"

"I'm an ex-slave with no identity. Where would I go? Who would have me?"

"I never understood--" Aveline says slowly, like she's not sure she should be asking, "--why you and Hawke aren't together."

"I walked out on him," Fenris says simply.

"What?" Aveline turns to look at him. "Why?"

"When Danarius comes for me," Fenris says, "If he takes me back. What use am I to Hawke then?"

"You know we'd fight for you."

"There are still other matters," Fenris says, "I've seen the way people treat elves. If my neighbors had any choice, they'd quarantine me to the alienage without a second thought. There's no question that my kind are sub-human, beings to be ignored in the light of day and to be feared in the dark. And there's the question of the estate, the Amell lineage. I obviously cannot produce an heir for him."

Aveline levels a look at him, a frown on her face. "It seems like you've put quite a bit of thought into this."

"I come from nowhere. I am going nowhere. My place is in the shadows."

She lifts an eyebrow at him. "Now you're being overdramatic."

"I'm convinced this is the truth," Fenris says.

"Shouldn't Hawke have a say in this?"

"Hawke," Fenris says with a half laugh, "Hawke is too kind to look reality in the eye."

_____

This is the truth: Hawke has too much power over him and he's scared of running from one master to the next.

And this is the sad, pathetic truth: Fenris is too broken to know how to be what Hawke deserves.

_____

The letter is slid beneath his front door, which is the first red flag.

The letter reads:  
 _Brother,_  
I will be in the Hanged Man, waiting to speak with you. We have much to catch up on. I leave for the Imperium in one week.  
Varania

Fenris wants to believe that she's come here of her own free will, that she hasn't brought an entire contingent of hunters with her. He wants to believe that she just wants to talk to him, help him even. But he knows better.

_____

Hawke doesn't even question him. He asks if it'd be alright if he called together a team in case it turned out to be too much for just the two of them to handle. Fenris nods, only half listening.

He knows her from the moment he steps into the tavern. Though her hair is red, she has his face and his eyes.

She recognizes him. She looks almost like she is going to be sick when she says, "It really is you."

He remembers.

"Leto," she says, "That's your name."

And everything goes to hell.

_____

It's sick, the way that seeing Danarius draws up such an instinctive response--a distinct willingness to please rising to meet the hatred and rage. It's disgusting, how his first thought is that he needs to go back to the Imperium with Danarius. Or else they'd punish him even worse than the time Danarius had threatened to cut the lyrium out of his skin and started to carve into the back of his thigh. Or maybe it's what will happen to him anyway--perhaps he deserves no less for being foolish enough to run away.

No. No, he wasn't going to go back--he was free. He was nobody's slave. He belonged here with his newfound friends. With Hawke.

"Is this your new master?" Danarius asks, "The Champion of Kirkwall?"

_____

Danarius must be killed. The rest will follow.

_____

He lifts Danarius off the ground, the pain of the lyrium glow only fueling his hatred. Danarius's eyes are wide and he's trying to gurgle out words but Fenris gives him no space to speak, his fingers clutching Danarius's neck.

"You are no longer my master," he tells the man and closes his hand into a fist, phasing through the flesh to tear out his throat. He drops the ripped larynx onto the ground next to Danarius, knowing that the man will be dead within minutes.

He only wishes he could have made it a thousandfold more painful. But life has never been fair.

_____

"This is your family," Hawke says and Fenris wants to scream.

How could he say that--after this bitch had sold him out? How could he compare what he had with Bethany to what Fenris had with this stranger who had betrayed him?

He lets her go in the end. Perhaps he will live long enough to regret it.

_____

He keeps to himself in the dead man's mansion. He goes through two bottles in the morning and ignores Hawke's knocking. There are no more hunters, there is no more Danarius. He is free but there's no sweetness in the victory. He has turned from a hunted man to nothing at all. How long had he been defining his life--his very being--with fear?

He would get no answers from his sister. Whoever Leto had once been is now a closed door.

He's half dozing in a fitful sort of sleep when he jerks awake to the scrape of a chair against stone. Hawke takes a seat across from him, picking up the bottle from Fenris's loose grasp.

"How did you get in?" Fenris asks. He's still half drunk with a pounding headache.

"I definitely didn't smash open a window," Hawke says, tipping the bottle back and taking a long drink.

Fenris holds his hand out. Hawke hands him the bottle.

"What's the plan?" Hawke asks, "Stay here and drink ourselves dry?"

"I didn't think this far ahead," Fenris admits.

"Do you have any food?" Hawke asks. Fenris shrugs.

"Well," Hawke decides, "Let's go find some."

_____

Had he been sober, he was sure he would have not been this compliant. But Fenris find himself in the Hawke Estate, half manhandled into a seat at the dining room table. Orana sets a glass of water before him and a bowl of soup with cheese crusted bread. He doesn't realize how hungry he is until he sees the food. Hawke watches him tear at the bread with his teeth.

"Varric's half convinced you're going to go mad and throw yourself off Sundermount," Hawke tells him, "I think I have slightly more faith in your sanity."

Fenris swallows. "I'm not going to throw myself off Sundermount."

"Any more wine and your liver is going to secede and throw itself off Sundermount."

"Nothing's getting thrown off Sundermount," Fenris snaps.

Hawke smiles wryly and leans back in his chair.

Fenris drops the bread back onto the plate and presses the heels of his hand into his eyes. "I thought it'd be different," he says, "I thought I'd be free."

"Aren't you?" Hawke asks, "Haven't you been?"

"My own sister sold me out," Fenris murmurs, "Who do I have left?"

Hawke's eyes are steady on Fenris's face. "You have friends." He swallows, and says more boldly, "You have me."

_____

_Yes,_ Fenris wants to say, _But how?_

_____

_Is this your new master?_

Danarius, haunting him.

_____

"My name is Fenris," he snaps the first time that the blood mage tries to call him Leto. She pauses and then leans forward as if she's going to question him about it and he stands up. He leaves his drink behind and escapes into the snow outside.

_____

Varric shows up at his door carrying a wooden crate. "Maker's breath, it took you long enough," Varric says when Fenris opens the door, "Come on, this is heavy."

It's a stack of ceramic dishware and cutlery. There are several wineglasses nestled in among shredded paper.

"It's a congratulations-on-escaping-bondage present," Varric says, "You must get tired of drinking straight out of the bottle like a barbarian--thought I'd help you class it up a bit. Isabela helped me pick the silverware. And by that I mean she stole most of it."

"I'm impressed that matches," Fenris says, picking up a fork and a spoon.

"Nothing but the best for our elf friend." Varric sets two wineglasses on the splintered table, wiping them with his sleeve. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"Thank you," Fenris says and finds a choice bottle from the several he had pulled up. He pops the cork and pours Varric a glass.

"You know, I've been to the Imperium before," Varric says, putting his feet up. "It was with my grandfather, a long time ago. My family used to own lyrium mines in Orzammer." He sips at the wine, watching Fenris pour himself a glass. "I remember the slaves at the processing plant. Hands all disfigured, half of them mad. I couldn't have been older than four, but those things stick with you."

Fenris gulps down the wine in one go.

"Easy there, tiger." Varric grins. "I didn't think this would be such a touchy topic."

"Sometimes I wonder if my own mind hasn't been addled by lyrium," Fenris says, half a hiss.

"You know, when it comes to it, Hawke isn't going to condemn his sister," Varric says, "Where will you stand then?"

Fenris pours himself a second glass. "Perhaps," he says, "I will not be here to make that decision."

Varric just smiles, lifting his feet off Fenris's table and setting his empty glass down. "If that decision was so easy, you would not still be here."

_____

Isabela gives him curtains the next time he sees her at the Hanged Man and howls with laughter at the look on his face. _Curtains._ The blood mage hides a smile behind her tankard and even the abomination looks like he's struggling not to laugh.

"I think your place could use some decor," Hawke says, grinning, and buys another round.

_____

It's the last snow of the season, heavy and silent with little wind. The flakes fall slow and clump together on the cloak Fenris wears over his normal armor, gathering ice on his gauntlets.

They're making their way back to Kirkwall, treading the slippery path down Sundermount. Just him and Hawke, whose whistling gets muted in the thick snowfall. Fenris's feet are freezing but he's survived worse.

"My mother used to make this fantastic spiced cider," Hawke says, slowing his pace momentarily so that he's next to Fenris. "I was thinking about trying my hand at it but I'm not sure if I'd somehow end up burning the whole thing."

"I didn't think that there was a large enough apple harvest to import cider this year."

"Well," Hawke says, grinning. He's always smiling at Fenris. "You know Varric. We managed to smuggle in a barrel or two."

"Are you going to offer Aveline some of your burnt cider?" Fenris blows into his hands, careful to keep the cold metal from his face.

"It won't be burnt if you're there to supervise," Hawke says.

_____

Fenris wraps his hands around the mug of steaming cider, his still-cold feet warming by the fireplace. Hawke drapes a thick blanket around his shoulders, apparently not caring that Fenris's leathers still have half frozen blood on them.

"It must be drafty at your place," Hawke says, sprawling out next to him, back against the front of his armchair.

"It's habitable," Fenris replies, though he will not deny that the Hawke Estate is far more comfortable.

"You know, my offer to help clean still stands."

Fenris smiles, for a brief moment. "I know you better now. You'd just stand around and narrate everything you find. The actual cleaning would be minimal."

"I'd get Aveline to help so that we might actually make some progress," Hawke says, "Or you could borrow Orana. I'd pay her extra. A lot extra, considering the state of your place."

"Do you think about Ferelden?" Fenris asks suddenly, "The Blight must have been contained. Would you go back?"

"Maybe," Hawke says, looking at him. "But it would have to be with my sister. Most likely not. I guess I've grown too fond of you guys. Plus I'm sure you'd miss me. Who else would drag you halfway to your death and try to convince you afterwards that it was actually all in good fun?"

Fenris smiles at that, but it fades.

"Isabela loves being at sea because it gives her a thousand second chances," Hawke says, looking back into the fire and shifting his feet away from the flames. "When she gets tired of one identity, she moves on to the next port and starts all over again. We don't have to let the past define us any more than we want."

Silence. Fenris takes a slow sip of the cider, contemplative.

"Fenris," Hawke says, "You can be anything you want."

_____

_Is this your new master?_

_____

The words are struck in his throat and it takes an intense effort to get them out. His hands are white knuckled around the now-lukewarm mug and he's staring into the fire as he says them.

"Do you think about that night?"

He can feel Hawke's eyes on him. There is a long silence, and Fenris feels foolish because of course it wouldn't have been as important to Hawke as it was to Fenris. He goes on, "When we--"

"I know what night you're talking about," Hawke interrupts. And then his voice gets quiet, "Yes. I think about that night."

"I want to ask for your forgiveness," Fenris says, "I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago."

"There isn't much to forgive," Hawke says. He moves closer to Fenris and Fenris gathers the courage to look him in the face. Hawke has a small sad smile on his face and Fenris's heart breaks all over again. "You weren't ready."

"I shouldn't have left," Fenris says, "I wish--" His hands tighten around the mug. "I wish you could have been happy."

"Are you happy?" Hawke asks.

"I--" Fenris swallows. "I feel like most days I don't know what that means."

Hawke closes his eyes, breathing in deeply--a measured breath like he's steeling himself for battle. It's something that Fenris has seen him do to get rid of the anger, to keep calm in the face of bloodlust. "Fenris," he says softly.

"I think I'm ready," Fenris says, "Is that alright with you?"

Hawke touches his face, thumb across his cheekbone, searching his eyes. And then he tips his head forward and meets Fenris's lips with his own--fitting them together just to breathe in sync.

_____

Fenris wakes sometime in the mid-morning, head pillowed on Hawke's chest. The curtains are open, letting in just enough light for Hawke to read the book he's holding over his face.

"Good morning," Hawke murmurs, looking down at Fenris. Fenris tips his chin up, curling one hand around the back of Hawke's neck to make his intenet clear. Hawke grins and kisses him, his broad hand curving around Fenris's ass as Fenris climbs on top of him to get a better angle. The book hits the gound as Fenris palms Hawke's erection.

"Very good morning," Hawke manages before Fenris shuts him up with a kiss.

_____

"Disgusting," Varric declares, "I've never seen you this chipper to be hunting down apostates."

"I've had a good week," Hawke says.

"I wonder why," Isabela says, looking over her shoulder at Fenris.

"If you'd like to divulge any details," Varric says, "Isabela and I are collaborating on a book."

"Yes, let's," Isabela says, checking Hawke with her hip.

"Let's not," Fenris growls.

_____

It's rocky at first. Fenris spends half his time following Hawke around with a nauseating slight smile perpetually on his face and half of it ignoring everybody because he needs to prove to himself that he isn't controlled by anyone. He takes a lot of long walks along the Wounded Coast, following hidden pathways that the raiders don't know about. Sometimes he comes across a small group of raiders or a lone apostate and he can't help but taunt them into a fight.

He catches two cargos of stolen goods. Aveline doesn't ask.

It's not that he needs the coin. He just needs to know that he hasn't gotten slow, hasn't gotten too comfortable.

And Hawke--Fenris doesn't deserve him. Because he doesn't say anything about it, just quietly helps to bandage the shallow cuts on Fenris's arms after a particularly close encounter. Fenris thinks that if anyone were to understand, it would be Hawke.

_____

"I have something for you," Hawke says when Fenris comes to the Hawke Estate for dinner. Fenris slowly takes off his gauntlets, following Hawke into the main hall.

"I have to warn you that it's not in its best shape," Hawke says, unwrapping the canvas bundle that he picks up, "And I'm about half convinced I should really just toss this out the window because I'm not sure you wouldn't find it offensive. But Varric insisted that you'd actually find it hilarious and that you'd, quote, really like the irony."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Fenris says.

"Okay," Hawke says, keeping it covered for a moment more before handing it over.

Fenris actually laughs and takes the blade in his hands. He concentrates and slowly draws a glowing hand along the edge. The lyrium in the steel responds, flaring with power to crack off the dust and debris that has collected over the years.

"I suppose this makes you an archon," Fenris says.

"I've always aimed high." Hawke grins.

"And I suppose I would follow you back into the Imperium," Fenris adds softly.

"I don't think that's necessary," Hawke says, but he kisses Fenris all the same, gently, with his hand on Fenris's shoulder. He smiles as he pulls away, "Is it tolerable?"

"It will serve its purpose," Fenris says, leaning it against the wall so he can curl his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Hawke's head and drag him down for a real kiss.

_____

Fenris starts taking his reading lessons more seriously, staying late into the night to practice his script. Hawke puts his head in Fenris's lap, giving a running commentary of something that had happened earlier that day or the newest erotic fiction Isabela had slipped into his back pocket with some lewd comment that Hawke also finds necessary to relay. By the time the candle burns down and Fenris sets the chalk aside, Hawke is asleep, drooling on Fenris's ankle. Fenris can't feel his feet for sitting in the same position for so long but he doesn't mind all that much if it means he gets to lean down and kiss Hawke's temple until Hawke wakes up and sleepily asks what time it is.

Sometimes he brings Hawke along on his walks along the Wounded Coast. Fenris leads the way and if they come across unsuspecting raiders or even a small contingent of slavers still using the old tunnels, Hawke looks across at Fenris, waiting to be ordered.

_____

In late spring, even Fenris cannot ignore the rising tension in the city. Perhaps it is easier on him because he knows he will not have to choose in the end. He will follow Hawke, who, as the champion of the city will eventually have to make a decision.

The letter comes in the early morning, before Fenris has left. He's still strapping on his chestpiece when Hawke wanders in with a sheaf of letters and bare feet, squinting at the papers in his hands.

"I'm being summoned to the Gallows at once," Hawke reads before looking up at Fenris, "Tag along?"

"Of course," Fenris answers. Hawke smiles and bends to kiss the corner of his mouth before wandering back out.

_____

The red light rises like a beacon into the sky, flaring out through the windows of the tower before it is all reduced to dust--stone and brick fragmenting into a fine powder that hangs in the air like a low cloud of smog over the city. Fenris can feel static in the air and recognizes that the explosive used had been lyrium based. How could the abomination get his hands on so much lyrium?

"We can no longer sit in silence. I've forced the action," the abomination says and Fenris draws his blade. He's advancing on the terrorist when Varric throws a hand over his chest and gives him a warning look. This is not his decision to make.

"You've condemned my sister," Hawke says, low and dangerous.

"Kill me," the abomination says, "It will bring justice to all of those who had to die for my cause."

Hawke looks at each of them in turn before turning to the abomination. His decision is final. "You will help fix what you've wrought,"

_____

There are shades in the street, mages using the blood of the fallen to survive and get away from the mess. But there are looters taking advantage of the chaos, calling up corpses to help them steal and terrorize. The sky above is dark and red, choking on lyrium.

Blood can only be used once. For more power, these mages will have to kill. Fenris has seen this all too many times. History always repeats itself.

He follows Hawke between the burning wreckage of buildings, towards the fading light of the twin beacons.

_____

"Maker," Varric mutters as he cleans blood off his crossbow, "I'm sick of all of this."

"I think I'll buy a boat," Isabela muses, "It'd be nicer to have a ship. But I think it's high time for me to move on."

"We could still all die," Hawke helpfully points out.

"You could be the first to go," Varric replies sweetly, "I have half a mind to shove you overboard."

Fenris says nothing. He watches the abomination huddled at the far end of the rowboat, sword laid across his lap.

_____

Bethany joins them for the momentary truce. Fenris allows himself to be healed by her before retreating away from the mages who gather together to bolster their spirits for the upcoming battle. They all have little experience fighting templars whereas the templars outside have had much more experience in hunting apostates. It is a losing battle, but not one Fenris will abandon Hawke for.

Perhaps it is better to recognize that their chances of winning are slim. It is an uncomfortably relieving realization. As long as Fenris can keep Hawke alive, it will be enough.

_____

Fenris cleans his blade, listening to the low murmur of the mages whispering battle strategies to each other. He watches the First Enchanter approach Hawke who is speaking to Bethany, only to be turned away with a shake of his head. The siblings hug, and then Hawke breaks away from the rest of them.

Fenris gets to his feet as Hawke approaches.

"Come on," Hawke says, jerking his head down the hall. Fenris sheaths his blade and follows.

There is a small office though an open door halfway down the hall. Hawke shuts the door and immediately Fenris slams him against it, their teeth clicking as Fenris pulls Hawke's head down. Hawke's fingers work to undo the laces of Fenris's pants while Fenris tries to tear half the buckles off Hawke's armor in effort to open it.

Hawke's mouth is hard, all teeth and tongue, pulling Fenris up against him. Fenris's pants undone, Hawke slides his big hands down Fenris's thighs, hefting Fenris up onto the desk. Half of the things on top gets swept to the floor and Fenris gets enough leverage to wrap his legs around Hawke.

"Maker," Hawke says against Fenris's mouth and Fenris finally manages to shove Hawke's armor open and slide his hands underneath. He makes quick work of Hawke's belt and throws it halfway across the room before pressing back up against Hawke's demanding mouth, teeth on his jaw. Fenris still hasn't had the time to pull off his gauntlets.

Hawke slides Fenris's pants off--Fenris leans back against the wall. Hawke fumbles for a moment with sword oil and then the cold metal of Hawke's gauntlet gently runs between his ass, pushing his legs apart so that the blunt head of his cock pushes against Fenris.

It's a tight fit--they're both so tense--but Fenris wants it so bad, that he bears down, working inch by inch to take all of Hawke, tiny whines escaping him with every bit more. Hawke runs his hands down Fenris's thighs, up his sides, thumbs brushing the pulse points in his neck. And Fenris can feel how badly Hawke's thighs are trembling, the control that Hawke is maintaining to not slam into Fenris in one fell swoop. He clutches at Hawke's shoulders, taking in more, more.

Hawke's breath hitches in Fenris's ear, the cool metal over his fingers slipping down the thin space of bare skin over the spine accessible through Fenris's armor. Fenris shudders--Hawke's hips jerk and he's all the way in.

They stay together like that for a long moment, pressed together. And then Hawke starts to move, until Fenris can't keep the sobbing breaths from ripping out of his throat, until the desk beneath them is splintering against the wall and Fenris is clawing at Hawke's back through thick leather.

In the aftermath, Hawke kisses him and pulls away only slightly, resting his forehead against Fenris's. Fenris still has his legs wrapped around the back of Hawke's thighs, hand at the back of Hawke's head.

"You're the most important thing to happened to me," Fenris whispers.

Hawke traces Fenris's cheek with his thumb, unable to speak.

_____

Orsino doesn't surprise him in the least. All of the magisters in the Imperium started once as desperate mages.

His blade sinks deep into the stomach of the abomination, red-grey guts sliding down the steel. Hawke leaps on the abomination's head and digs his daggers into what might have passed for a neck. He reaches in and pulls something out, tossing it halfway across the floor.

Fenris pulls his blade out just as the monster is about to topple. Hawke leaps away, landing on his feet.

_____

The templars seem endless. His gauntlets become slippery with blood and he has to compensate for the loss in precision with a push in power. It'll tire him out more quickly, but it seems like two new templars appear for every one he cuts down without any break at all.

He's exhasted by the time they reach the doors and he knows that there are only more templars outside waiting to cut them down. Nearly two thirds of the mages have been cut down. Hawke is favoring his right arm though he still fights with both daggers. Varric is running out of arrows.

"You're bleeding," Hawke murmurs as he passes Fenris. Fenris lifts a hand and is surprised to find blood at his hairline. Somebody puts a hand on his back. He whips around but it's just Bethany, murmuring an exhausted healing spell.

"Drink some water," she says, handing him a canteen she must have picked up from one of the dead templars, "Don't faint. We need you." And then she's gone, working healing magic elsewhere.

_____

He feels it before he sees it--but it does not have the same appeal to him as it once did. When Meredith unsheathes her sword, he feels the air vibrate, a buzz of pain where his own lyrium reacts to the malevolent intent in the space of the gallows courtyard.

One by one the statues come to life--thirty foot titans moving jerkily away from their pedestals to converge on them. The templars are backing away, shouting to one another. Hawke moves forward in his fluid way, intent on just one target.

His blade of mercy was forged from meteorite and lyrium. The bronze castings of slaves present the resistance of a tree trunk. But when Bethany starts to work with him by sending fire into the statues, his blade slices through the softened metal like tender meat.

The gate guardians are harder. His blade sparks against the iron, can only chip at it slowly. It's not until Bethany enchants his sword does Fenris manage to start hacking the guardians to pieces, putting the entirety of his tired strength into every blow.

He feels the shift in the air before he hears it: Meredith's wail. Hawke is backing away, his daggers dripping with blood as she falls to her knees. Her sword splinters, fragments into pieces, blows away on the wind. She burns from the inside out, screaming all the while until she is nothing more than a black husk.

A silence falls.

_____

Fenris shouldn't be so surprised.

After all, Hawke has always been a wildcard.

_____

**EPILOGUE**

The ship docks in Highever.

In a letter, Varric had written, _That's the most idiotic plan I've ever heard. I suppose it wouldn't do any good to tell you to look at a map._

But Hawke is insistent and Fenris only puts up a token argument before giving in because he's sick of the open ocean. It'll bring them within a hundred miles of Kirkwall and within the reaches of the Chantry once more but Fenris misses the earth.

"I'll take you to Lothering," Hawke says, "What's left of it anyway."

Fenris draws the grey cloak tighter around himself. Hawke laughs and puts an arm around him. "I'd forgotten how much the wind bites."

"An inn, perhaps," Fenris says, "Just for one night, then we move on."

Hawke presses a dry kiss to the side of Fenris's head. "I'm glad we're here."

"I'm sure you'll be just as glad when the Chantry catch up," Fenris says, but he's smiling faintly.

_____

Two cloaked figures walk across the docks of Highever. One casts a look back, across the channel.

Then they are gone.


End file.
